Vicious

The bubbles stop. Vicious hauls Captain Hawk up out of the pool of blood, then grabs his big shiny gun and blows some more holes in his chest.

“He’s dead,” he mutters. “He’s dead now.”

“They don’t die,” says Professor Cold. He’s tired. His robes are open; his undershirt is dingy. “You really can’t understand? He’ll be in suspended animation, or a clone, or some kind of time anomaly…”